"For last year's words belong to last year's languageAnd next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"
Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone.
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the cannon towel newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning
in the outcry from the kettle that heats my tea each morning...
in the godhead of the table that I set my silver, plate, cup upon each morning. All this is God, right here in my pea green house each morning
and I mean, though often forget, to faint down by the kitchen table in prayer of rejoicing as the holy birds at the kitchen window peck for their marriage of seeds. 



